


Regional Himbo Studies

by MonomonTheCreature



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Healthy depictions of trans sex, Multi, Other, Rough Sex, because I say so!, its juicy honestly, mato is trans!, not a lot to tag on oros end huh, quirrel gets destroyed - Freeform, seriously the size difference... bros..., which is important if youre a massive dude fucking a rather average man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonomonTheCreature/pseuds/MonomonTheCreature
Summary: or, In Which Quirrel Beds (Two of) The Nailmasters For Nary A Reason Except He Is Friendly
Relationships: Nailmaster Mato/Quirrel (Hollow Knight), Nailmaster Oro/Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	1. Nailmaster Mato; or, In Which Celebrations End Filthily

Quirrel hadn't yet realized the meaning in the way his oft-visited friend Mato stared at him as the old assistant teacher read. They didn't need to speak most visits, both just glad for the warmth of a soul nearby. It still didn't change the fact that the warmth focused on him most quiet nights. Mato wasn't the smart type, Quirrel knew plainly that he might not even realize he's staring. Which, to give him credit, Quirrel never asked him to stop. 

Is it selfish, if it made him feel loved again?

Tonight. though, was a different night. A night of celebration! Ghost had come by and shown off their fancy new Nailmaster's Glory, and the excitement between Quirrel and Mato as the small adventurer left was nearly palpable. They spoke occasionally about their vested adoration of their small friend--someone Mato saw as his child!--and how proud they were of them. They had come so far! Mato shook from the pride alone. 

Bottles were popped and corks forgotten as the night waned on. They talked about nothing and everything, moths and old schoolhouse--or training ground--crushes. Sheo had a crush on Hegemol, Oro on Isma, and Mato on Ogrim. Mato made a remark about respecting a man what could roll up into a ball to attack. Quirrel laughed boisterously at that, perhaps loud enough to rival that old great knight. Quirrel, slurring his words ever so slightly, suggested that he, too, could roll up like that. Though, his was for defense, not attack. 

Mato perked up at that, laughing louder than Quirrel's attempt. A lion's roar to a kitten's mewl, how funny. Mato eggs him on, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Quirrel smooths his antennae back--which earns him a lovely chuckle--and stands up on wobbling feet. He curtsies like a dandy, before hopping up and curling into a neat ball that taps against the ground. Mato roars and lifts up the man-now-a-glorified-calcified-beach-ball and holds him up. Quirrel infurls and chortles at the amazed, almost silly look on Mato's face. 

This was a change in perspective. A change in closeness, a chance to look at Mato in the same spirit of how he looked at Quirrel. The Nailmaster was fascinating; stronger than his other brothers but sadly dumber than a rock. All the same, though, all the same he felt like getting closer. As Mato lowered Quirrel back down to the floor, the archivist's hands did not leave the Nailmaster's. This caused Mato to tilt his head in such an… adorable way. Quirrel should really… get a closer look?

Quirrel taps his mask against Mato's, eyes shut in the dimness obscuring his eyes. Mato makes a small sound and surely makes a face as well, but Quirrel couldn't see. Mostly because he felt Mato's hand rise to cup his cheek and gently pry off his mask. Which, of course, Quirrel allowed. His mask, then Mato's. Which was more like a helmet than the flat disc of Quirrel's facsimile face. 

"Ah. Er. Too forward?" Hesitance painted Mato's words a different shade of slurred, And Quirrel could only reach back up after setting the mask aside to tug his face down to meet Quirrel's own. Mandibles met mandible and tongue met tongue, both of them a little desperate. A healthy desperation, between men and friends. Friends and men. More? Ah, no. Quirrel could think about that later. For now, all that ran through his head was the fact that Mato tasted like raw meat. Warm, though. Like the insides of a steak. It fit the burly man that pressed down from above, he thought. 

Mato's hands drifted from Quirrel's face and down his sides, leaving almost too-warm trails in their wake on Quirrel's all-too sensitive body. The alcohol made him hyper aware of each of Mato's movements, from his mandibles grasping and pulling at the archivists to the stubby fingers that gently dug between Quirrel's plates in the hunt for something. Oh, how forward Mato was, when intoxicated and high on Quirrel's show of affection. Needy, needling his heat into the cracks in Quirrel's hide, needily drinking his fill of whatever love Quirrel gave him. It was… cute. Very cute. Like an overeager puppy. 

Quirrel pulls his head back to croon a moan as Mato accidentally finds his slit, which pulses with fiery heat against his carapace. Mato makes a low, soft "Oh" sound and redoubles his efforts. He moves his head away from Quirrel's and kisses down his chest and belly, nuzzling at the dad bod-esque plating there for a moment before his eyes focus on the real prize. His hands temporarily leave their place pressing at the chitin around his prize to take the pesky legs that tremble and quake around his head and toss them over his shoulders. Quirrel shudders a sigh and spreads as best he can while obeying Mato's… practiced motions. 

"Have you… done this before, friend?" Quirrel whispered, hands hovering above Mato's horn. 

"Ah, haha. No, not at all. I simply… I thought about it. About opening you up beneath me. Quite a lot." Mato gives Quirrel the most brilliant, sincere smile before he finds the movable plate above Quirrel's heat and slides it out of place. Both of their breaths hitch, warm air brushing over the assistant's most delicate feature. "Do you… should I continue?" There was a note of begging to Mato's quivering voice. 

"Of cou--" Quirrel was interrupted, as Mato seized his thighs the second he gave consent and buried his tongue into the other man's folds. Quirrel flicked his head back and keened loudly into the stuffy air of Mato's cave, legs quaking and threatening to snap down around Mato's head as the other eagerly lapped at his snatch. Which served the unspoken promise of Quirrel's twin cocks hardening and pushing past his last line of defense… and resting half in Mato's mouth. The bigger man chuckled around the one he had captured between his lips, which sent a line of pleasure rocketing up Quirrel's back and nearly making him dizzy. 

Mato rolled his head in a lazy circle, before pushing himself lower on Quirrel's cock, taking the whole thing into his mouth easily. Quirrel, in his youthful romps with other pillbugs his age, had been lauded as having pretty above average size! But that means nothing when your lover's head alone is as big as your torso. Alas. Even with the size difference, Mato's movements were divine. He suckled when he pulled his head almost fully off, and dragged his tongue along the bottom when he pushed down. Quirrel's mind was a heated haze, his mouth open only to respond with Mato's motions with high-pitched keens and deep-belly groans. He was good. Nearly too good. 

Quirrel saw his end approaching as Mato took the second cock into his mouth. He took them easily, and just as easily submerged them both in his heated mouth. The sounds got more obscene from both halves of the situation, the small gaps between Quirrel's members allowing for the sucking sounds to escape. And the doubled pleasure sending Quirrel careening down the path of no return. His groans turned into soft, begging words as he neared his climax, hands scrabbling at Mato's horn in desperation. To keep him down? To keep himself together? Something, something! His sole response was Mato taking him in to the hilt and humming in question, which they both knew would simply finish Quirrel. Which it did. Quirrel came with a screech of Mato's name, his hot cum painting the back of the others mouth and throat white. Mato hummed his approval, which prolonged Quirrel's high and made his cry break off into sobbing. It didn't help that Mato was eagerly swallowing every drop, his eyes dark with it all. 

Mato pulled away a bit later, only when Quirrel softly begged for his freedom and Mato had gotten his meal out of it. The smaller man lays in a heap of his own limbs, eyes lidded and mouth agape. Mato slides up beside him and holds his archivist in his hands, quiet and content and--"Let me… do the same for you." Quirrel softly requests. Which causes Mato to stiffen. 

"I--you do not have to, friend!" Mato immediately insists, even as Quirrel pushes himself up. 

"W. What? Why do you..? I will respect your wishes, Mato, of course I will, but what is wrong..? You cannot hurt m--"

"I'm not. Biologically a man!" Oh. 

Quirrel becomes very quiet, pondering. Mato was… trans? He hadn't a clue! Mato had the same voice as his brothers, and was just as much of a man if not more a man than Quirrel. "Is… Are you uncomfortable by the idea of being pleasured like that, then?"

"W. Well! Er." Mato, who was steely and confident before, flounders. "I simply do not wish to be… wish to be. Thought of as anything but a man. And wouldn't not possessing a cock… do that?" 

"Nailmaster Mato. You are man, plain and simple. What lies beneath your chitin is nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hide from me. I love you as a man. I will continue to." 

Mato is knocked breathless and silent. Then, without another word, he takes Quirrel's hands into his own and presses him down to kiss him as eagerly--or, no, MORE eagerly than before. Mato is all desperation and soft sounds, obviously overwhelmed by emotion. Quirrel may have little want to use his nail, but whatever husk remains of whoever hurt Mato would feel a thousand pains, even from beyond the grave. Quirrel will say trans rights.

Quirrel allows his lover his moment of desperation, before Quirrel softly begins prodding at him with his hands. Looking, searching for something to make Mato calm down just a biy so he may do as he will. Mato realizes this and pries himself away, struggling against his own need to clutch Quirrel tight and make him feel all the love that bubbles up in Mato's gut. Quirrel murmurs praise to the bigger man as he easily knocks him onto his back. 

Quirrel moves to kneel between Mato's legs, plenty of space for the smaller man to work. He presses along chitin and pulls softly at the plates of armour, which come off as Mato undoes their clips. Bare, and covered in delightfully soft fuzz. And hiding something, something that Quirrel can smell. He rubs at the plate keeping Quirrel from his prize, eyes peering up at his captive. "You are ever so eager for me, Mato. How long have you been picturing this? Me, settled between your legs, pressing into you?" 

Mato gasps sharply in return, throwing his head back against the soft pillows that dot the floor in his house. Quirrel had moved the plate aside and dipped a finger into the warmth set before him. Quirrel hums encouragingly, his other hand pressing at Mato's thigh. "What do you want me to call this, friend? This heat? I wouldn't want to use uncomfortable terminology." He moves his hand away so Mato may have the ability to speak. 

"Sheath." Mato chokes. "Slit. Please--Quirrel, thank you for the politeness, really, please just fuck me."

"Of course, Mato." Quirrel licks the finger he had in Mato clean, then digs two back into Mato's slit. Mato croons his adoration of the action and trembles beneath him. Quirrel coos and eggs him into louder sounds that would echo had Mato not had so many damn pillows. Quirrel pistons his fingers, adding a third then a fourth then the whole fucking hand after a bit. Mato was big, so the size was almost necessary, that doesn't mean it didn't stretch him in such beautiful ways. 

"You are very receptive." Quirrel whispers darkly, barely audible to the crying man. "Very loud. Did you dream of this, Mato? Did you spend your nights dreaming of me fitting my fist into your needy sheath?" Quirrel punctuated his dirty words with thrusts of his balled fist, which made Mato quake and roar with moans. "I would like to hear you beg, Nailmaster Mato." Quirrel settles his fist as deep as it can go in the kindly Nailmaster, and waits. 

Mato begins babbling. It's almost incoherent, the words dribbling out of his mouth. "Need--Quirrel! Fuck me, Quirrel, please. Please move Quirrel please, wyrm below, never so satisfied. Never so full! Quirrel! Please!" He nearly sobbed the words, eyes straining to stay open, legs tightening at his sides. 

Quirrel hums and quickly pumps his arm once. "Do you deserve it?"

"Yes! I'll be good, I'm so very good. I made you cum! It was so tasty! Quirrel, please, oh god--" 

Ah. Satisfaction. Quirrel finally nods, kissing the top of Mato's heat as a little reward before his bigger reward slammed back into him. It was tiring, and he knew his arm would hurt the next day, but the way it made Mato squeal and shudder was more than enough to keep Quirrel going. Some would call it ruining, Quirrel would call it giving Mato exactly what he wants. Mato shuddered and squeezes tighter around Quirrel's arm, his climax approaching. 

"What a good man. Cum for me." On cue, Mato roars as he cums around Quirrel's arm. Its crushing heat nearly sufficated the arm of blood, but Quirrel managed to tug it free before he lost the limb entirely. The satisfied smile on Mato's face, loopy and out of it as he was, was plenty reward for a good job done. Quirrel slides up next to Mato, pulling the man close and kissing the pleased tears off of his face. "My handsome man, Mato. My beautiful man."

Mato could only cry his name again before he fell asleep in Quirrel's arms.


	2. Nailmaster Oro; or, In Which A Deal Is Struck

The far reaches of Hallownest were harrowing in design. The cliffs were harsh and almost obnoxious, and the lengths to which Quirrel had to maneuver around booflies and primal aspids nearly made the small man give up on his quest entirely. An errand for Quirrel's dear friend Mato, a delivery for the most estranged of the brothers. 

Quirrel leapt down into a soft pile of ash, nail stabbing along with his feet to help him steady. The strange weight of his messenger bag, heavy with whatever Mato had given him, truly fucked with Quirrel's balance. But, Quirrel was a strong man. It wasn't too terrible to continue as he was. 

Quirrel could hear the slam of nail against… something far before he came close enough to see Oro's home. It was large, and warm, and Quirrel felt the weight in his carapace so acutely now. He trudges to the door and peers past at the training ground, where Oro strikes down a dummy time and time again. So… strong. 

The archivist was no voyeur; he didn't enjoy secretly watching people. But he always had a certain affection for those men who could unleash such devastating attacks. He vaguely remembers requesting a night off after visiting Lurien and his watchers at some point… Oh, no. Quirrel had a type. 

He hadn't noticed he had leaned against the wall, a hand pressed firmly to his lower stomach to keep his plates from moving with the stress beneath them. It was indecent! He had laid with Mato not even a week ago! Surely he shouldn't--

"You." Came a stern voice. "Why do you stand outside my home? Go away." 

"E-excuse me?" Quirrel looks up finally, and connects eyes with Nailmaster Oro, who stands so tall beside him. Above him. Oh, Quirrel feels his heart thrum painfully in his chest. 

"Have you a cause for disturbing my peace, pillbug?" Oro grumbled again, pressing Quirrel into the outside wall as he shoves past. A line of electricity ran from Quirrel's toetips to his antenna, which flick under his bandanna. 

"Y-yes! Ahem, yes, of--of course. I have a delivery from Mato." Quirrel fumbles, quite uncharacteristically, at his messenger bag to pull forth the hefty box Mato had entrusted him with. He holds it up for only a second before Oro snatches it and pries it open. 

Tense seconds pass, before Oro snorts and closes the box without Quirrel getting a single glimpse. "I suppose you came with a good reason. You look… like shit. Come in and rest, briefly. Then leave me to my solitude."

"Ah? Y-yes!" Quirrel attempts to look inconspicuous, but twin erections still press at the underside of his plating. And he is so terribly afraid if he moves they will just--

"The species of horned beetle us brothers hail from boast the most powerful olfactory senses of any beetle." Oro points out almost innocently, almost casually, though he sets the box down on a rock by the door. "Pillbugs, when aroused, produce a scent similar to static electricity gathered on lumaflies. Or is that just you, archivist?"

Quirrel felt as if he was going to die. The shame heated his face to a brilliant blue, his hands clutching at his crotch plate desperately, in any attempt to keep his pride. But the hungry way Oro stared at him, as if he were peeling the plate back with his eyes alone, burned Quirrel's flesh in intricate patterns of need. Damn it, damn it all. He should have simply--

Oro shoves the smaller man into the wall, hand digging into his shoulder. Aggressive, possessive, commanding, his voice rings out. "Should we barter, then, Quirrel? It has been an eternity since I filled something. And a while since you have slept. Here is my offer, pillbug." Oro leans closer, mandibles peeking out from under his mask and teasingly gripping at the sides of Quirrel's face. "We fuck. You sleep. You wake up, you eat, you leave me be. We're even. Understood? Acceptable?"

What was Quirrel to say to that proposition? No wasn't an answer, no way in hell, if Quirrel didn't get satisfaction soon he hadn't a clue as to what vicious burning would take him up and destroy him. He also needed the rest, and he could convince himself that it was just doing Oro a favour… 

"Yes."

"How good of you."

Oro scoops Quirrel up with one arm, which serves to make Quirrel shiver and cling to Oro's shoulder. The burly man brings Quirrel in and dumps him into a pile of pillows, then kneels in front of him. Politely, almost kindly had his had his hands not been so rough, Oro removes the hands keeping Quirrel's cocks hidden. Oro hums his approval, but proceeds to ignore them wholeheartedly. An understandable thing perhaps, but agony to the pillbug now half-pinned there, rear lifted and head bent at an awkward angle so his body could better hold up his ass.

"I had heard your kind possessed double endowment. How curious, what would be the evolutionary purpose? I suppose it does not matter." Oro held a hand firm against one of Quirrel's thighs to keep his leg still while Oro tossed his helmet to the side. His mandibles, now fully free, grab and sink into the soft flesh now revealed. Quirrel gasps and groans lowly; he had not been treated so roughly in gods knows how long. Oro wasn't as kind and eager to please like Mato, quite the opposite. Oro had a goal in mind and while it would feel divine--does feel divine--he cared little for the excess pain in the pursuit. And, mayhaps, that makes it all the better?

Oro brought a hand to grace along Quirrel's cocks, not giving any real stimulation that would ease Quirrel's tenseness. Just as Oro wants, most likely, seeing the dark glint in his eye. Oro's other hand begins prodding at Quirrel's slit, the sheath within which he stored his cocks was… almost just as sensitive as the rods being gently petted by Oro's grizzled hands. Perhaps more from years of disuse. Quirrel's breath hitched and skipped, and his legs hooked behind Oro's head, keeping him in place. To keep that feeling--

"Legs, down." Oro grumbles, lips pressed at Quirrel's entrance. Quirrel huffs in annoyance, but is eager to obey for more, so he pries his legs apart and does his genuine best to not clasp Oro in that vice grip again. "Good pillbug." The archivist is rewarded with a harsh lap of a strange, ribbed tongue. Oro… Oro may be big and rough and uncaring, but it's so obvious that he doesn't want to accidentally hurt Quirrel. Which? Admittedly? Was nice to know. Who knew getting eaten out could tell you about someone's character. 

Quirrel's mind buzzed almost uncomfortably as the second nailmaster devoured his slit as if it were some rich bug's meal. The ribbed tongue dragged and caught against Quirrel's folds, opening him up bit by bit, coaxing him apart instead of ripping like a less dignified man. Oro hummed at each of Quirrel's loud groans, barked commands when Quirrel misbehaved. Legs down, eye contact, no grabbing at his horn… So much rougher and more crass than lovable, refined, dignified, kindly Mato. Oro was tough, stern, no-bullshit, and the hottest bug in a while to go at Quirrel so voraciously. 

Though, if Quirrel had any complaints, it'd be about the lack of stimulation for his poor cocks. They twitch and leak gently, but after that original dance of fingers, get absolutely nothing. Quirrel tries to complain about this, but the dirty look Oro gives him shuts him right up. Maybe Quirrel could stand it, if Oro kept at his other pleasurable assaults. Which, thank the Root, he did. Until he pressed his tongue as deep into Quirrel's sheath as it could go and rocked it until Quirrel slapped his hands over his mouth as he more or less screamed from it. The roughness, the filling, the way Oro's eyes bore into his with fury… oh. Wait. Fury?

Oro sat back and wiped his face, then grabbed one of his temporary lay's hands and yanked him up. Quirrel made such an undignified sound, which was immediately silenced as Oro pulled his precious bandanna off and tied it over Quirrel's mouth. Quirrel would complain, again, had he not found the action… so absolutely hot. Oro growls like a beast--maybe the brothers were partially beast? Mato had yet to tell Quirrel about his parentage. Maybe a question for their eldest!--and bends down over his prize, tied in a neat little bow. 

"Surprisingly tasty. Like salted citrus." Oro rumbles into the side of Quirrel's neck. "Electric. Devastatingly delicious. If I still possessed my mind I would take a few more bites but, unfortunately, if I do not fill something I think you would end up sleeping outside." As if to punctuate the threat--there was little genuine malice behind it--Oro sinks his fangs into Quirrel's shoulder. Not enough to break the carapace, but enough as a clear fucking warning. Temporarily and consensually, Quirrel was property. And maybe it was a bit hot. And the promise of aftercare? Incredibly good. 

Oro lifts Quirrel up again, just for a second to unbuckle his pants, then brings him back down. Oro was… massive. Absolutely, devastatingly massive. Proportional to the Nailmasters size of course, but almost obscene compared to Quirrel. While the archivist was no weak ninny, he had hardly thought about the size difference. Was this average, for Nailmaster men? Honestly, why would that matter? It was still pressing up, the tip feeling superheated as it pressed at his slit. 

Quirrel could not speak, could not voice his worry, due to the bandanna ties tight around his mouth. Nor could he take that off, seeing as Oro has pinned Quirrel's arms beneath his own large hands. Though, although, the look on Oro's face--it was concentrating. And Quirrel didn't feel afraid. Just a little worried, as the cock pressed further into him. Just as ribbed as the Nailmaster'! tongue, twice as large. Hrgh. 

"Tighter than I imagined." Oro growls, leaning forward to press his mouth against Quirrel's shoulder. "Make delicious sounds for me, pillbug." What a command, as Oro suddenly jerks his hips upwards, in one devastating move filling Quirrel to the brim. And Oro didn't even HILT. So, so full. Quirrel whimpered pathetically against his gag, leaning on Oro. It hurt, of course, but not as much as it could have. And Quirrel trusted that it would not remain so. 

Oro's soft huff against his cheek was the only warning Quirrel got before Oro began bucking. Quirrel rose with the thrust, and fell back onto his larger mate when Oro pulled back away. The spines of Oro's cock caught and tugged at Quirrel's every fold, and it nearly make him cum from the feel of it. But, alas, Oro would simply not have that, as on occasion, when Quirrel began trembling like a tiktik shorn of its spikes, Oro pulled him down and kept him there until Quirrel's burgeoning orgasm was fully destroyed. Teasing, so awful was Oro, not letting the poor archivist his relief. 

Though, soon enough, Oro lost his patience for his little games. He growled beastially again, and rolled forward so Quirrel was pinned down to a pillow. And, with a possessive huff, the nailmaster began thrusting quickly. Burying himself in Quirrel, then pulling out, each millimeter of the cock sending Quirrel down the most pleasurable path. Had there been pain at some point? Quirrel couldn't rightly remember. All that swam in his head was the fact that this cock was perfect. It ground into every nerve Quirrel had in his sheath, sending electricity racing up his body, dizzying, heating--

Quirrel practically screamed into his gag as Oro continued to lay into him. Each thrust shook Quirrel's entire body and pressed that cock further into his sheath. Hilt? The hilt? The smacking sound grew louder as Oro fit himself fully into Quirrel. Huh. Huh! That. Would be concerning, had Quirrel not been on the cusp of orgasm. And then over that cusp, wailing into his gag, filled to the brim with satisfaction, then filled to the brim with steaming cum as Oro hilted and shot all he had into the smaller man. Quirrel's vision fuzzed and warbled like pleated glass, and it fell back against the pillow. The nailmaster bucked a few more times to ride out his orgasm, before he pulled away and rather quickly pulled Quirrel down so whatever leaked out wouldn't absolutely ruin his pillow.

Oro and Quirrel rested for a moment, before Oro stood up and retrieved a large towel. First, he wiped himself off, then with gentle motions, cleaned Quirrel up. Though, Quirrel was far too out of it to say thanks. His bandanna was untied and set aside to be cleaned at a later point, and his legs were wiped clean of all the fluids that clung to his carapace. Oro hummed his thanks as he began softly massaging the old archivist, assumedly to help with whatever soreness he would have the next day. 

"Visit again at some point. But don't get comfortable." Oro warned gently, before he scooped Quirrel back up and brought him to a pile of pillows to rest in the bigger man's embrace.


End file.
